


I know I can't be with you, I do what I have to to do.

by AllieCat



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Child Death, Divorce, Gun Violence, Martial issues, Murder, Platonic Relationships, Platonic soulmates Alex/John, idk - Freeform, they're close as heck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:36:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7675711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllieCat/pseuds/AllieCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He’s dead, John.” </p>
<p>Alexander’s frail voice speaks it’s first cohesive sentence of the morning, clearly defined against the sobbing ramblings of the previous night. It’s a heavy weight and the sentence sinks in the still morning air, and John doesn’t have a reply straight away, and even then, what  he comes  up with is pitiful at best. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, fucking sucks.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I know I can't be with you, I do what I have to to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this prompt, from http://hamiltonprompts.tumblr.com/
> 
> "Prompt: Hamilton decides he needs to get revenge for his son’s death and tracks down George Eacker, boiling with rage and grief, intending to kill him. Whether he goes through with it and is filled with regret or he stops and has mercy at the last minute is up to the author. "

Alex is laying on the floor of John’s apartment, the ceiling fan whirring above him, John watches he studies the cracks in the plaster. He’s been without sleep for too long, that much is obvious to John, and he wonders when his friend ate last, if he’s consumed anything other than coffee in the space of the past week.   
  


“It wasn’t your fault.” John says for what has to be about the fortieth time that evening. He hates seeing his friend like this. Alex’s marriage is in shambles, his career is about an inch away from catching flame, and now like rubbing salt into an open wound, his oldest child is dead. John sits down on the vaguely sticky linoleum floor, pulls Alex’s head into his lap, runs his fingers through his hair. Does whatever he can think of to try and help. 

He doesn’t actually know what to do, what are you even supposed to do when your college roomate shows up at two in the morning, sobbing hysterically in your apartment complex’s hallway? He takes him in, obviously, pulls Alexander into his home, into his arms, holds him as he cries, holds him for what feels like hours before he manages to get Alexander to spit it out, to tell him what has him so upset. Alexander isn’t a crier, he’s not the type to cry about his feelings, he never has been, and for him to show up in this state? John can hardly manage to swallow the reason when Alex tells him, just holds him tighter, hushes him softly and tries to keep his friend from falling apart. 

Alex cries long into the night, until the sun is rising and he’s asleep on the kitchen floor, when John’s back and ass burn from sitting on the lino covered concrete beside him for so long. He scoops his friend up, kisses his forehead lightly as he carries him over to the sofa, dumping him down silently. He waits until he’s sure Alex will stay down before he leaves, makes his way out onto the small balcony, sits down in his chair beside his pot of wilting geraniums. He’s missed calls, six of them, along with six accompanying  voicemails, all from Eliza. He calls her back, not fully expecting her to pick up. 

 

The line connects though, and there’s a beat before either of them says anything. 

  
  
“Hey, sweetie.” John opens softly, leaning forward, elbows on his knees as the orange sunrise filters through the clouds. It’s barely six in the morning and the heat is already oppressive. It takes another few seconds before there’s a reply from the other line, but it’s okay, John can’t blame her. He fills the silence, “He’s here, got here about two last night. I’ll keep him safe, keep him here.” John murmurs, he doesn’t dare offer his condolences, it’s too soon, the wound is too fresh and he knows from experience that it does nothing to help.

  
“Okay.” Eliza replies, and John can hear that even that one word is hard enough to get out, her voice hitches somewhere in the middle and he wishes he could be there to take care of her too, to look after the both of them. “Angelica’s here. So-” Eliza pauses, and John listens as she takes a breath, wonders what she’s going to say, though he feels he already knows. Sure enough, he does already know, “So he doesn’t need to come back. Not right now.”

 

“Okay, I’ll uh- I’ll let him know.” John nods, even though he’s on the phone, on the balcony of his apartment, and Eliza is miles away and not in a position to even see it. “I’ll keep him with me, just make sure you say so if you need anything.” John sighs, trying to do the right thing by both of his friends. He doesn’t like being caught up in the middle of their divorce, but it’s something he’s learned to put up with. They say goodbye, it’s awkward but not insincere when John tells her that he loves her, and then they hang up. John does love her, she’s been one of his best friends since he was barely eighteen, to know she’s hurting hurts him too, but the call leaves his phone feeling like it’s burning in his hand, and the urge to throw the thing off the balcony is tempting.

 

He slides the glass door open, pushing the curtain out of the way as he goes back inside. Alex is crying again by the time he makes it back to the sofa, but he’s still asleep, and John’s not sure if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing, but he slides into the empty space beside Alex, it’s narrow, but so is John, and he wraps his arms around his best friend, holding him tight, and close. “It’s gonna be okay, baby.” He whispers, even though logically he knows Alex probably won’t hear it. 

 

The room is beginning to fill with light as John drifts in and out, Alexander held tight in his arms. It’s only when the other man begins to stir that he’s brought out of it, senses heightened. He sits up, almost falling off the sofa in the process. He makes his way to the coffee table, pulls it up to the end of the couch and perches on the edge, taking Alex’s hand in his own, his other hand in his friend’s hair as he wakes up. “Hey, baby. How you doing?” John asks, smiling softly as Alex’s bloodshot eyes meet his own. His question doesn’t get an answer, but it doesn’t matter, this is enough. He wonders how Eliza is managing, wonders if he should call Angelica, but then Alex is sitting up and he pushes his friend’s ex wife and sister in law out of his mind, and goes to sit in the newly vacated space at Alex’s side. “C’mere.” John murmurs, and tugs Alex close, letting the man crawl into his lap, letting him take what he needs, holding him for as long as he’ll let him. 

“He’s dead, John.” 

Alexander’s frail voice speaks it’s first cohesive sentence of the morning, clearly defined against the sobbing ramblings of the previous night. It’s a heavy weight and the sentence sinks in the still morning air, and John doesn’t have a reply straight away, and even then, what he comes up with is pitiful at best.  


   
“Yeah, fucking sucks.” 

 

Alexander laughs darkly, and then goes silent, eerily so, and his grip on John’s t-shirt tightens. It’s not the reaction he was anticipating, but at this point anything that isn’t crying feels like progress. “I’m going to kill him.” Alexander says softly, but with the kind of conviction that makes John worried, and severely confused. He runs his hand up and down Alex’s back, raking his nails over his vertebrae, trying to construct a reply.

 

“What do you mean, honey? Who are you- well you’re not going to kill anyone, that’s really not how it works, but tell me anyway..” John rambles, as Alex gets up. He’s pacing the living room floor, hands fisted in the hair around his temples, pulling. It’s a position John has seen Alexander in many, many times before, and it’s no less worrying this morning. 

 

“Eacker. I’m going to kill him. Like he- like he,” He stutters, words failing him as he continues pacing, as if he’s trying to wear a track in the carpet. John watches on, giving the man his space, even though all he wants to do is drag him back to the sofa, and hold him a little longer. “Like he killed my  _ son.  _ He killed my son, John!” Alex bit his lip, standing stock still for a few long moments, before disappearing off down the hall. 

 

He returns shaking, tears rolling down his face, a gun in his hands. It’s John’s gun, not something he enjoys owning but was a gift from his father on his twenty first birthday, his name is engraved into the barrel and John can’t quite bring himself to get rid of it, so it stays hidden in the back of his hall cupboard. He stands up, slowly makes his way over to Alexander, who looks small, and fragile, and it’s breaking John’s heart more and more as the seconds pass, the tension in the air thick, and heavy. “Give me that, Alex, come on.” He says softly, he knows it’s not loaded, it never has been and never will be, but Alex shakes his head furiously. 

   
  
“Philip is dead, and it’s my fault. Philip is dead, Eacker killed my son. I sent my son to die I-” he rambles, but John cuts him off, wrapping him tightly in his arms, gently taking the gun from his grip, prying his fingers from the cold metal, tossing it aside, letting it fall out of arm’s reach.

 

“I know, baby, but this isn’t how we’re going to deal with it.” John replies, and Alex is sobbing again, uncontrolled and desperate once more, almost worse than when he’d first shown up. There is nothing John can do to stop him, probably nothing he can do to help, and so when Alex sinks to the ground, John moves with him, holds him, keeps him safe like he had promised Eliza he would. “I’ve got you, it’s gonna be okay. It wasn’t your fault.” He whispers, dropping a litany of comforting words into his best friend’s ear, hoping that they’d be heard over the roaring of his cries. “I’ve got you, Alex. It’s gonna be okay. It’ll be alright” He says over, and over, as if he can convince himself that maybe it might be. 

 

 

He’s not sure if it will be okay, but all John can do is hope, and try and keep Alex safe from himself in the meantime.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This my first fic for this fandom, and I haven't written anything other than omegle RPs for a long time, so I apologise if it's a little clunky. CC and other comments are greatly encouraged.
> 
> Title is a lyric from Do What You Have to Do, by Sarah McLachlan, it kinda set the tone for this whole thing.


End file.
